Clever Magazine, Vol. V, #6, spr. 03 " Gab, Gab, Gab " (www.clevermag.com)

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Joseph, the super spy

Gab, Gab, Gab

by Joseph E. Arechavala

I am a 40 year old father of two boys living a boring, humdrum life. In my Walter Mittyesque fantasy life, however, I am a super spy. I have been writing for a little over two years, mainly as an escape from my boring, humdrum life.

I can’t seem to just sit around and gab. Guess I’m not what you would call a conversationalist. I do not possess what my father described as the ‘gift’ for it. It’s embarrassing, really, not being able to hold a conversation with anybody. I’ve always stunk at that. Making small talk to me seems such a waste of time (as opposed to this, which is just as much a waste of time). “After ‘hello’ and ‘how are you’, I’m pretty much done.

I’ve always wondered why people feel the need to talk anyway. If you put several strangers in a room, there will be several minutes of silence, very uncomfortable silence, until some brave soul says something and unleashes the floodgate of speech. After that, you pretty much can’t get anyone to shut up. It’s human nature I suppose, that since we’re the only animals with language (at least the only ones that we know of), we have this instinctive need to use it all the time.

Listening, however, listening is not something we feel an instinctive need for. Talking, that we can do, and a lot of it, almost all of it is useless. I’m telling you it really is. If you sit quietly in some public place and listen to the conversations around you, you will be amazed at the amount of stupid things that are being discussed and how few (if any at all) important things are being said. But there we go, rambling on and on. Most people I’m sure talk because society dictates they have to. They’d just as soon shut up and keep quiet forever.

Someone says hello to you and you feel obligated to greet them back. And then ask how they are doing. Not that you really care, mind you, you’re just being polite. Actually, you don’t even remember this person’s name and their face has but a vague familiarity to it. But they say ‘okay’ and then ask how you are, and you have to answer them back. Then, you’re trapped. The next thing you know, you’re listening to them describe (in graphic detail) their latest surgical procedure, or how their trip to Europe was (it rained the whole time they were there).

Meantime, you’re standing in front of them with a fake smile on your face hoping they’ll either shut the hell up and leave you alone or be struck by lightning, neither of which is going to happen. The torture continues until they finally realize they’re late for something (thank God!) and tell you how we’ll have to get together sometime and give them a call. Blissfully you recall that you haven’t got their phone number and resume your life, happy in the knowledge that you will never encounter this annoying person again. Of course, that’s the person you’re going to wind up seeing every morning on the train platform, or who just got a job at your office and will be sitting at the next desk.

Another thing that always amazes me is the places we choose to be quiet. Libraries and hospitals I can understand. Elevators, however, are another story. Get into an elevator, and except for someone speaking a floor number to get someone to push that button because they can’t, it’s silence. And again, it’s uncomfortable silence, like everyone knows they should be talking, but are afraid of breaking some societal taboo if they open their yap. And don’t decide to be the first one to talk, either. You’ll be the recipient of strange and angry looks, like you’re spitting on the Vatican floor or tracking mud into the White House.

All in all, I’ve come to the conclusion that human beings should never have been giving that ability to speak in the first place. Not that God makes mistakes, but I do think sometimes He wishes He’d done things a little differently, and this is a case in point. I occasionally wonder if He ever gets tired of 50 million people talking to Him at once (does God ever get headaches?) and trying to answer everybody tugging on His sleeves, as it were, like little kids begging for attention.

Well, He is God, after all, so I presume He can handle it. Unless Heaven is some vast bureaucracy, angels and saints at desks answering prayers and petitions. Although, come think of it, bureaucracy would probably better suit Hell.